How to Torture Hetalia Characters
by AcerbusEquinomin56
Summary: A comprehensive guide to bizarre situations and the countries found in the middle of them. Warning: CRACK.


Germany walked calmly, or perhaps not so calmly, along a road, fidgeting as he did so. The road cut right through the middle of a pleasant looking neighborhood, flowers abundant and bees buzzing. Germany was unnerved, looking steadily at a badly drawn map, scribbled over with lines of crayon.

He thought to himself, "I know it was a lot to ask, but it seems Italy genuinely tried hard to choose the next attack site for our armies…though…I can't exactly tell whether this red spot is an "X" or spilt marinara sauce…"

Germany looked around, the smiling sun at the top margin of the map too much for him, and wondered a little. It was obvious why he was unnerved. The place itself seemed rather unsettling. There was song in the air…delicious smells wafting along the breezes…friendly hellos from every person he passed, despite the rather obvious grimace he garbed.

This wasn't like a war-zone at all…

He was beginning to become suspicious.

"Why would Italy send me here? …I'm getting a bad feeling about this…"

Just then, he noticed something odd. He thought he saw a head peek over a fence next to him. He sighed, rubbing his cheek, wondering how long he'd been in the sun. The fence had to be at least 8 feet high! It wasn't possible that someone could peek over.

Then he saw it again.

It was yellow…and had large eyes…whatever it was…

At this point, he was facing the fence directly. He **knew** there was something odd about this place…

The head reappeared, much to his surprise and stayed visible, staring down at him. He leapt backwards, stunned. It was giant **bird**. Before he could even fully comprehend the gargantuan avian menace, it began **talking**. The **bird** was **talking**.

It spoke with a sweet, nasally voice.

"Oh, hello! I haven't seen you around here before."

Germany let out a few choking noises. The bird went on.

"If you don't mind my asking, what's your name?"

Yet more choking noises.

"Oh, I see…you must be shy. That's alright then. I'm sure you'd like an introduction though."

The bird stepped forward, opening a gate in the fence and planting itself on the sidewalk. Germany stood, somewhat frightened, not knowing what to do. The bird continued.

"My name's Big Bird. Welcome to Sesame Street!"

Germany fainted.

* * *

Prussia stood erect, facing Greece, whose back sagged a bit having been earlier woken from sleep. Prussia smiled, his eyes red and hungry. He uttered smartly like a martinet,

"It's time to begin your training!"

Greece rubbed his right eye on the back of his corresponding hand. He yawned.

"What are you…talking about?"

Prussia smacked his hands together, each beat reverberating against the walls of the room.

"You're lazy and out of shape! I want to see you work!"

Greece frowned sleepily.

"I'm not out of shape…"

Prussia grinned again, his eyes ready to eat Greece whole.

"Fine then…prove it."

Prussia then stepped back and pointed at a treadmill nearby.

"I want to see twenty laps stat!"

Greece frowned again, but slowly complied, climbing onto the machine. He yawned again, hand covering his mouth. Prussia took this as ample opportunity to start the tortu- I mean training.

It was fortunate that Greece managed to catch the railing to keep from falling off as Prussia notched the dial a few speeds higher. Greece muttered to himself as Prussia began laughing.

"I thought…my Spartan days…were over…"

After several minutes and Prussia having laughed till he could hardly breathe, Greece called out a bit of a taunt.

"You stand there laughing but I don't see you being all that trim…for that matter, you look more flabby than ever just laughing…"

Prussia immediately let fly a shocked look only capable of finding outlet in Hetalia. He cut the treadmill off, pushed Greece aside and jumped on in his place.

"I'll show you fit!"

At that moment, Austria popped up from behind a large weight-lifting apparatus. He reached over and swiftly jammed the accelerator button, launching Prussia across the room (and into a pile of gymnastic mats where Sweden and Finland happened to be…uh…exercising…).

The only other sounds were groans, laughter, and soft, well deserved snores.

* * *

Canada was irresolute. This time he would not fail. He would not back down. He would have his vengeance.

He thought all this as he stared at America, who he had tied to a table like platform with leather straps (no other kind would do). Canada's mind was shifty, his own thoughts conclusive. He must do this! For all his lost pride and self-respect! For everything he stood for!

America laid his head back and looked at Canada, who to him appeared upside-down.

"Hey dude, this is, like, really fun and all, but I'm getting hungry and I said I'd meet a bro somewhere for a burger, kay? So, you can untie me now."

Canada smiled, attempting a malicious grin, but ending up with an adorable smirk (though he certainly couldn't tell…the feeling was somewhat malicious after all). He walked over and patted America on the face and then turned his back as he began talking (as any respectable James Bond villain is apt to do).

"Oh no…America, I'm afraid you'll have to stay…okay?"

(He turned his head at that last part)

America shrugged in the straps. "Sure, whatever. But I'm starving dude…do you have any food around here?"

Canada attempted another grin, this time inching closer to the tempestuous expression he sought, but still managed only a cute cuddly megalomaniacal fancy.

"Oh…I have plenty of food…in fact, I have a special treat prepared just for you!"

America's face was alight with joy. He quickly began scanning the room for the aforementioned treat. He saw nothing. He began to become irritated.

"Come on dude! Just give it to me already! I want it!"

Canada chuckled and looked at America once more before turning around to a mysterious mechanical podium covered in glowing buttons. After pressing several, Canada strode forward, standing beside the table on which America lay supine.

A large funnel-like device, fitted with a nozzle descended from the ceiling and stopped about a foot above America's forehead. America looked at it curiously before looking at Canada.

"Is that it? Where's the damn food!"

Canada rubbed America's cheek again, this time for effect before speaking.

"In due time, America, in due time. You see…over the years, I've grown tired of your antics…of the way you've treated me and other nations who I get along with…of the way you think you can walk all over me and expect me to still get up all fine for your next hoops game…and especially the way that you think that you can beat me at hockey…"

America interjected.

"Dude…I totally rule at hockey…"

Canada sighed.

"In any case…I had a long talk with China…consulting as to how he…or she? …never mind…anyway, how they command respect…and I learned an interesting method by which they were made famous…"

America was puzzled. Canada continued.

"However…I found their method to be…unsatisfactory to me…so I altered it to fit my own style…and behold!"

He stood back and presented the giant funnel like structure.

"CANADIAN MAPLE SYRUP TORTURE!"

(imagine dramatic music here)

America laughed.

"Okay…dude…seriously? Are you kidding me? Okay…where's the camera? I know there has to be one here somewhere…"

Canada was irritated.

"Enough! I begin the torture now eh!"

He pressed a random blue button, initiating the device. Slowly, slowly and slowly, a drop of maple syrup was emitted from the tip of the nozzle. It slowly, slowly, slowly made its way in a long string before dripping on America's forehead, who flinched a bit at the unusual feeling.

Canada attempted maniacal laughter (I'll leave you all to try to imagine that one…) and threw up his hands in triumph.

"Yes! The agonizingly slow descent of the divine drops of my country will have you going mad before long!"

This time, America smirked.

"Seriously…is that it? You know I can just lick them up though right?"

He demonstrated as another drop fell into his mouth.

"Hey, but thanks dude, you took care of my hunger cravings…but…you think you could get me a waffle or something?"

Canada sighed…and went to get a waffle…thinking up revenge measures as he walked away.

* * *

The nightclub had never seen such a crowd. Britain didn't bother most of the time with such places, but he had heard there was a sold-out show coming in and that anyone that was anyone would be there. Naturally, he had to be there. Who wouldn't? And Britain loved to party. Who could dispute that?

The lines eventually allowed him entrance into the building, which was practically standing room only. He shuffled through the crowd until he managed to position himself in front of the stage. It was large, brilliantly lit and alive with lights and noise, ready to accommodate those who would soon perform.

He waited.

The crowd waited.

The random anxiety-ridden tech manager waited.

And then, band members began to file on stage, of course accompanied by raucous onslaughts of applause. Once several members had their instruments in tow, they stood there, unmoving, staring straight ahead. Many in the audience wondered about this, thinking something was wrong. They looked around, the murmuring starting up quite rapidly.

Britain tried to get a good look at what was happening. Before long however, the whispers were replaced with an odd sound. There was an odd noise of grinding machinery a little ways away. A fog machine had been started up and the product was billowing across the platform in long obese snakes.

Britain blinked. He could hear the grinding getting louder. He looked around in anticipation, himself wondering what on earth could be going on.

Once again, the grinding was getting louder, this time the roar of it was becoming pronounced on the crowd, some even getting nervous.

Then all at once, a circular platform of the stage began to rise up, hoisting with it a figure shrouded by the fog. Britain could just make out a white, bedazzled jumpsuit, complete with rhinestones and glitter, an open, audacious V-neck collar and enough tightness to make any self-respecting punk rocker squirm.

The effect was not unlike Freddie Mercury.

The deafening applause had started up again. The lights shot on, blinding Britain for a few precise moments and beaming onto the figure raised on the pedestal. The fog cleared. Britain shielded his eyes.

It was France. In a jumpsuit. With a microphone.

"Bonjour my lovelies! Are you ready to get rocked? Honh honh honh!"

Britain would have fallen over if there were enough room for it.

France wasted no time however as he launched into his first number. The band played a bit, but nearly everything was percussion as the performers and the audience alike began to stomp their feet to the rhythm. France rocketed into a chorus.

"We will, we will, F- you, f- you!"

Britain's face drained of color. He shot through the crowd to the stage stairs. France continued on.

"I will, I will, F- you, f- hey!"

At that moment, he was yanked off his tower and almost tumbling over the perpetrator. He looked angrily around before realizing that the "perpetrator" was Britain.

"You charlatan, why are you hauling me off stage like some piece of Saturday night trash?"

Britain responded.

"You are far too filthy for the censors!"

France looked at him for a moment before laughing and inching back with his hands on his hips.

"Onh honh honh! I see you are just jealous of moi artistic flair!"

Britain stunned and bluttered.

"Are you crazy?! I'm British! What do I have to be jealous of?!"

France regarded him with a look of suspicion, before finally breaking into a malicious grin, one as heavily laden down with romantic intonations as his words would be with gravy. (mm…gravy)

"Fine then mon ami! You think you are better? Just try to out-French moi!"

He held out the microphone.

The room had gone dead silent.

Britain gulped. He had not expected this…but he wasn't one to turn down a challenge.

He took the microphone, trying especially hard to keep his voice from cracking.

"Okay then! I will!"

France smiled triumphantly and went to take his place in the audience. Britain looked out at the thousands of people staring at him, waiting.

He called out to the band-members.

"Umm…mu-music p-pl-please!"

An odd nostalgic symphonic tune began to play. Britain jumped in.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,  
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,  
Brown paper packages tied up with strings,  
these are a few of my favorite things…"

There was not a boo in the house. Only the frilly underpants that proceeded to smack Britain in the face. The pink unmentionables slid down and fell off as Britain eyed his attacker. France called out.

"Boo! Mon ami, you are, how they say, stinky! Feel the wrath of my divine undergarments!"

France hurled another pair of who-knows-where-he-got-them-frilly-underpants. Britain, however, would not stand for such behavior. It was in his nature to be competitive.

"AH! Fine then! You asked for it? You got it!"

He snapped his fingers three times and suddenly the music took on a jazzy, burlesque swing.

He dazzled.

"Cops in tea cozies and whiskers on Britains,  
Guys in their medals and the REAL Charles DICKens,  
Loud burly athletes tied up with strings,  
These are a few of my favorite things!

Cream covered boners that shouldn't be too dull  
when whipped cream and sweet dreams bring bowlfuls of cuddles,  
Or was it due to the booze we don't remember a thing?  
These are a few of my favorite things!

Girls that impress the music-starved masses,  
drunken young chaps that make five thousand passes,  
pre-heated beds that creak on their springs,  
These are a few of my favorite things!

In the snog fights,  
when my knees cling,  
if the guy's rubber clad,  
I just think of a few of my favorite things,  
and then I don't feel, so BAD~!

As Britain stopped singing, the music stopped with him. All of the room was silent. Not a sound was heard…until France started clapping.

"...BRAVO! Oh Mon Ami, that was absolutely splendid~!"

France paused to jump onto the stage again and put his arm around Britain. It was only at that moment that it occurred to Britain exactly what he just did. He paled, frightened and his head sank down, nearly far enough to kiss the floor.

"I have never been so embarrassed in all my life…"

France gave a grin.

"Just wait…" He addressed the audience.

"Let's give him a round of applause!"

The room was suddenly shaking with sound, the undulating cacophony of approval hammered the foundation of the building. Not a mouth in the audience was not cheering. Britain, unused to such feedback let out an involuntary blush and regained some color. It was quickly stymied however as France began to drag him off stage.

"WAIT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

France's voice whispered seductively into Britain's ear.

"I liked your song so much, that I'm going to take you to a hotel, where you can show me some of your _favorite things_…"

Britain screamed for assistance, unheeded, as the cheering drowned out his pleas. France's laughter died down in the distance. It was an encore the audience never got to see.

* * *

The classroom seemed relatively normal, full of normal, energetic children. The elementary school thus concerned had never seen any malevolence or problems in its jeweled history of pre-pubescent education. That was until one recent day when a dark cloud descended upon the building and its grounds.

The faculty stood by worriedly, anxiously chatting with one another, trying to ease the sense of tension that had crept into the classrooms after the cloud had come upon the establishment. No one could make sense of it. Things were colder, darker, drearier, and felt ominous; even the children weren't quite as delightedly enthusiastic as they had been just days earlier.

This problem could not hide itself for very long. And one day, a teacher happened upon it.

"Today Class," she said nervously, "we have a guest speaker. He'll be reading a classic fairy tale to you. Please welcome Mr. Russia!"

The children all clapped, not knowing what was coming. A towering fortress of ice and adorable evil came trudging through the tall door. What one could imagine as the worst possible scenario was already engendering itself before the children's eyes. The storm was coming to full front.

Russia took his seat in a children's size classroom chair, bending slightly over to allow himself room to read the book and watch the children. The children, in turn, were perplexed by this visitor. And he was just as perplexed by them. He'd never been invited to read for children before, and certainly felt privileged to do so.

Russia opened the thin, paperback book he'd brought along to read. It was a colorful picture book, picked specifically for its empathetic purposes. He turned to the title page and showed the children.

"Today, I have brought this story of Little Red Riding Hood to read to you all."

The children perked up, seeming to recognize the story. Russia began.

"Once upon a long time ago, there was being a little girl whose name was Little Red Riding Hood. Her name came from army uniform that she was supplied with by Russian troops stationed in her nearby province. She was a very good little girl, even fulfilling duties as transportation agent in taking supplies to capitol."

The teacher began to sweat.

"One day, nearest provincial leader says to Red Riding Hood, "Comrade Hood, be so good as to be taking these ham and mortar packages to capitol." Little girl complied, taking on task as merit of honor. And so, she taking this package of important value, set off through a dark and scary wood which in this story represents democracy."

The teacher began to sweat even more.

"On her way being through dark and scary democracy, Little Red Riding Hood met up with secret informant Red Wolfe, who also happened to be in service to Western powers, and so was grave danger to delivery of important packages. Red Wolfe said to Little Red Riding Hood,"

Here Russia altered his voice, or attempted to, so as to sound more Western.

"'Oh Comrade Hood, be so kind as to furnish your fellow Comrade with something of nourishing help for I have been scouting disobedient peasants all day.'

But Little Red Riding Hood was of smarter caliber than secret informant took her for because of special guerrilla training she received in capitol service. And so, being aware of not wanting to lose her packages, she told the Red Wolfe that she would be of happy disposition if he would accompany her to capitol for tea and bread-cakes.

Red Wolfe took seriously her request and thought that she might have party waiting for him, full of hamburger type things and other depraved trinkets for Western style amusement. So, he completely was fooled, following her to capitol where she, seeing fellow secret police, turned informant Wolfe over for hours and hours of harshest punishment afforded by the caring government.

Some of punishments given include—"

It was at that point that the teacher gracefully and vehemently interrupted.

"Thank you! Mr. Russia, that was just splendid, superb; I have never come in contact with such a gifted public speaker!"

Russia blushed.

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely, which is why I'm so sorry to have to tell you that we're out of time for today. But don't worry, you can come back another day and finish your story, or even bring another."

Russia seemed saddened, but enchanted by the idea and so stood up from his chair to leave.

"Thank you for giving me wonderful opportunity."

"Of course!"

The teacher seemed incredibly relieved Russia was leaving. As he walked to the door, he waved goodbye to the children in the classroom, all of whom were somewhat terrified of him. He stopped the teacher at the door and said,

"Next time I will be bringing favorite story of mine: Goldi-Lenin and Three Western Democracies."

With that Russia left the teacher and the partially traumatized class behind. The teacher turned, feeling the cloud lift and the darkness dissipate. It was not until one particular child asked her when Russia was coming back that she realized the horrible mistake she'd made. Invitations are dangerous creatures indeed.

* * *

On his way out, Russia noticed a small sheet of paper tacked to the school bulletin board. It read,

"National Karaoke Competition."

Russia wondered. He wondered a lot.

Meanwhile behind a cleverly disguised barricade, Sealand sat in the classroom, having listened in and taken extensive notes. Upon completion of his secret intelligence gathering mission, he fled from the classroom, skipping as quickly as his childish demeanor would allow.

Someone must know about this evil plot to corrupt the world's children through rewritten literature. But who? Who could Sealand tell? …That's when the idea struck him.

* * *

"…And that's why we should be worried." Sealand had just finished a long harangue of explaining what he'd seen to Hungary. Hungary sat with a decadent dessert (a gift from a neighbor) and a yaoi novel in her hand, listening as Sealand explained the dangers of literary inclination. Sealand waited on her response and saw her gripping her novel especially tightly. Suddenly, she exclaimed,

"Are they taking volunteers for classroom reading?"

* * *

Greece and Japan were both home sick. Japan hadn't been expecting to get sick at all, but these things happen. Unfortunately that didn't make things any better, but there were well wishes from various countries around the world. Various personas of Europe had sent cards and packages and presents, and even a large offering of sausage. America had even offered to visit with a truckload of hamburgers, but someone had to tell him that trucks didn't float and Japan didn't need the fast-food for his diet (a fact America couldn't understand).

Greece on the other hand had been sick for a long time and only recently had the sickness gotten severe enough to keep him seriously ill. It was a long time coming however. After all, the haphazard country was more than a little prone for sleeping outside and inside, and on benches, and near subway systems, and basically anywhere that was comfortable enough to sit down and rest upon. Thus, there was more fear over his health than there was concern.

What was ironic was that neither country, during this shower of affection and attention was really thinking of themselves. Certainly they had enough to deal with getting well again, but they both were a tad more concerned with each other. Word travels fast with France and Austria after all, although the former wasn't allowed in either bedroom.

Soon enough then, once the majority of Greece's fever broke, he shuffled out from underneath the covers of his bed, dressed in his regular clothing and began a long trek to Japan's house. He could take a shortcut through the park though, which would save him time.

Japan on the other hand was enduring the last of a prolonged virus and was well enough to move around his house. At around the same time then, he also dressed appropriately and set out to visit Greece at his home.

"It's the porite thing to do after all."

Greece thought about cats as he trudged on.

They both reached the park at the same time, Japan having caught up because of the slower steps Greece took. They both made their way through the park, casually observing the goings-on around them. China was busy flying his large red kite. Poland was busy sitting on Lithuania as Latvia was not so gently trying to push him off. Greece supposed it was a wrestling match of some sort.

Greece and Japan both reached opposite ends of the fountain in the center of the park at the same time. They passed by, Greece taking the right and Japan taking the left. They then continued on and out of the park.

Japan politely knocked on Greece's door. On his way through, he'd seen the Italy brothers from a distance in a wrestling match of some sort. He tried not to pay attention as he waited. Nothing happened. At the risk of being impolite, Japan tried knocking again in case Greece was asleep. Still nothing. Japan sighed. It didn't look like he'd get to see Greece that day.

He started back to the park, taking more time as he felt himself getting tired from the trip. Even what would be a normal routine might be considered overexertion at this point. By the time he reached the entrance, he realized he still had a long way to go and so thought he'd take a short rest.

He approached a bench he knew to be near the center of the park and was surprised to see Greece sitting on the right side. Greece noticed Japan and turned slowly.

"…I didn't find you at your house."

Japan made the echo of a smile and moved to the front of the bench.

"And neither did I find you at your house."

Greece looked sleepily content. He patted the left area beside him on the bench.

"Would you like to join me?"

Japan made a whisper instead of an echo.

"I would rike it very much."

Japan took his seat, sitting poised and careful while he nodded off. Greece was already about asleep when Japan had found him, and so dozed quicker than usual. It was a little while later when France found both of them leaning on each other asleep.

That made for lovely new pictures for his website.

* * *

Romano and Veneciano were sitting on a picnic blanket in the middle of a happy looking meadow. Veneciano had packed them everything a good Italian should: pasta, pizza, pasta sauce, and pasta. Veneciano was having a marvelous time and Romano was miserable.

"Why did you drag me along for your stupid picnic!"

Veneciano was indefatigably sunny.

"Oh come on Romano, aren't you having fun? I cleared up some time so we could spend some time together! Germany even went to visit my friends in New York."

"No. I want to go back home."

"But what are you going to do there that's more fun than being here?"

"I don't know. Maybe I could find a truck full of tomatoes to run me over."

Romano wasn't being sarcastic.

"But look at the happy Mr. Sun Man, Romano! He's being so warm and sunny! He just wants you to have fun!"

"He wants us to get skin cancer you sun bloated moron."

"But why would Mr. Sun Man want that?"

"Because he's a giant ball of fire you idiot!"

Veneciano frowned momentarily as Romano huffed. Veneciano cheered up a second later.

"Oh Romano! I brought something that I know will cheer you up!"

Romano couldn't imagine what it could be.

"Oh what? Potato-bastard's head on a platter decorated with matching napkins?"

"Even better!"

Romano turned.

"Your favorite!"

And then Romano gasped. Veneciano was holding the most complex looking dish in history. Layers of pasta mixed with layers of different kinds of cheese, folded in with roasted tomatoes, olives, and a variety of other hearty bits all suspended with large amounts of meat. Romano was stunned.

"Veneciano?"

"Ya, big brother of mine?"

"Did you make that for me?"

"Absolutely I did!"

Romano was torn between whether or not he should be nice. His normal nature got the better of him.

"Well you didn't make it right! Don't you know how much I hate it when you make food? You always end up screwing up everything you touch!"

Veneciano was saddened until he had a thought.

"Oh come on Romano, try some!"

It was tempting…but…

"No! I don't want any of your damn nasty food! It probably even has potatoes in it somewhere!"

"No it doesn't Romano! I even made a second one because I realized I put them in the first one!"

Veneciano was a prodigy at pulling heartstrings. But, still, to no avail.

"I refuse to touch that crap!"

"I want you to try it!"

"No!"

"Please!"

"Never!"

"Fine then! You leave me no choice!"

Romano turned just in time to see Veneciano flying at him with a large spoon in his hand. In a large flop, Romano regained his sense to realize that he was lying on his back and Veneciano was sitting on his chest.

"Now, try some!"

Veneciano held out the spoon. It held what Veneciano knew to be Romano's absolute favorite part of the dish, scooped from down near the bottom where the best cheese would have melted into the meat…

Still, Romano wasn't curmudgeonly for nothing.

"I'm not trying it!"

"Come on!"

"No!"

"Please!"

"No! Don't you hear what I'm saying? No is the same is several languages you dolt!"

"Romano, please try it!"

"Get off me before I mess up your face with the best of my abilities!"

Veneciano suddenly felt an odd spark in his soul. The light flashed through eyes, even where Romano noticed.

"…Veneciano?"

Veneciano leaned down with the spoon, a dark look on his face.

"Eat it."

Romano looked terrified. He squealed.

"Okay, okay, I'll eat it! Just get away from me! I don't want to be eaten as well!"

Then, suddenly, the happy Veneciano was back.

"Yay! Here you go!"

He proceeded to stand up and offer the spoon to Romano, who in turn scrambled backwards and out from under his no longer menacing brother.

"Fine…"

He took the spoon and gingerly tasted. He frowned.

"It's not bad…but I still can cook it better than you…"

Veneciano bubbled with hearts of bliss.

"I'm so glad you like it!"

With that, he tackled his brother again, with his brother shouting continuously. Too bad France didn't get back in time to take pictures of that.

* * *

Germany could hear voices. They were soft, fuzzy noises, all under the borderline of his actually hearing them. He opened his eyes to note that he was outside, looking at the sky. There were tall buildings looming from around where he was laying, but a comfortable distance away.

He felt his head ache as though he had a concussion from being sideswiped by an Indonesian hippo and sat up with his hand firmly applied to his forehead. A crunching noise accompanied the movement. He blinked and slowly moved himself up and down before looking around.

He was sitting in a giant bird nest. The nest was surrounded by colorful furry creatures with large eyes and large mouths. Then he saw the giant yellow bird that had so traumatized him in the first place. He leapt backwards, stuttering.

The bird seemed relieved.

"Oh! I'm so happy you're awake. We were all worried when you passed out like that."

The other creatures nodded in agreement. One particular monster edged closer to Germany. He was red and short and spoke with a child's voice.

"Hello! How are you feeling?"

Germany could only emit noises similar to the word "gack" in rapid and continuous measure. The other creatures looked at each other, and then finally at the bird. The bird approached Germany holding a piece of paper.

"Excuse me, we were wondering if you were part of this competition, since you look like you're dressed so perfectly for it?"

Germany slightly moved his attention from the bird to the flyer the bird was holding out. He took the piece of paper. It was an advertisement for a national karaoke-off. Germany hadn't heard of it before, but it did sound interesting. His thoughts were interrupted again by the bird.

"By the way, did Italy send you?"

Germany's eyes widened.

"Wait, how do you know Italy?"

"Oh he's a great friend! He comes here all the time!"

The look of horror on Germany's face was accentuated only by the sudden motion of one of the creatures. This one was blue, amorphous and had derpy eyes. It opened its enormous maw and chomped down on the paper Germany had outstretched in his hand.

Within a few moments of noisy munching, it talked.

"No cookie, but good anyway."

Seconds later, Germany was running down the sidewalk in the direction he had originally come, screaming as he did so. The yellow bird puzzled.

"Well…we've never had anyone like him here before…"

* * *

Iceland sat alone on a beach. A puffin brought him a fish. The fish turned into a pancake; the pancake turned into America and then suddenly the rocks sitting around him turned into disco balls while everything began singing and doing the Funky Puffin.

And this is the hallucination that daily occurs with Iceland.

* * *

The large club was filling up with people. The manager was nervously wringing his hands. What was he going to do if all the acts didn't show up? Would he be able to face his colleagues again? He had promised them the biggest competition yet seen by the internet connected world…

What would happen if he didn't come through?

It was enough to make any grown man shiver in shame. Thankfully though, at that moment, he heard a door open behind him and a group of highly recognizable people walk through. He looked orgasmically happy.

"I'm so orgasmically happy!"

France strode forward to extend his…sincerest salutations first.

"Ah, Mon ami, I knew our presence here would delight and titillate you!"

The other countries behind him rolled their eyes. The show must go on, but thank goodness they'd heard about it. None of them would have known of this beforehand if not for word of mouth…and a few odd flyers that happened to be hanging up.

As it happens, every country that heard about the supreme national karaoke competition wanted to take part. Who wouldn't? It was enough of a title to finally give honor and praise to their country that would last for centuries, or at least until another such competition came up.

Thus, no one would stop them.

The manager was just happy that everyone had shown up. He quickly briefed them on the rules.

"Alright everyone, I assume you know this already, but just to recap. You'll go on one at a time unless there are duets, and then you'll be scored. The person with the highest score at the end of the competition wins.

We ask you that please respect other performers while they are on stage. After each performance, please join the audience. Okay, so everyone ready?"

He paused as various countries nodded.

"Then let's go!"

A rousing hoorah was given and the show started.

The audience was murmuring along, the tide of people rippling in boredom and anticipation. Suddenly the show's host appeared from offstage dressed in a flamboyant white suit, complete with cape and top hat. He spoke into a microphone.

"Is everybody ready for the greatest karaoke competition of all time?"

The audience cheered back.

"Then give it up for our first performers! They hail from either end of Italy! Please give it up for the Italy Brothers!"

Clapping followed as the two men walked out onstage. They waited, not facing themselves or the audience. Quiet came. They waited until…

Immediately Veneciano and Romano stood back to back, arms crossed, triumphant smirks on their faces. They simultaneously held up their microphones and the music began.

"I'm blue,

Da ba dee, da ba di,  
da ba dee, da ba di,  
da ba dee, da ba di,  
da ba dee, da ba di…"

They both walked around the stage touching screaming fans hands. It was not long however before the cool-slick demeanor of the performance began to crack. Tears sprang to Veneciano's eyes and he flung himself at Romano.

"I can't sing this song! It's too sad!"

"Gah!"

A large FLUMP resulted in Veneciano sobbing on top of Romano. Everyone, the audience, and France all "awed." Everyone except Romano.

"You damned waterlogged bastard! You ruined our chances of winning this!"

Veneciano stopped, immediately optimistic.

"Don't worry Romano, we could win the favorite spot!"

Another "aw" reverberated.

Spain leapt onto the stage from the crowd and began patting Romano on the shoulder.

"Don't worry mi amigo! I'd vote for you!"

Romano growled.

"Get the hell off the stage! You've got nothing to perform."

Realizing the truth in this, Spain widened his eyes and pulled a guitar out of nowhere. An acoustic guitar. He was quickly carried off stage by security. The host quickly sauntered on-stage to regain order.

"Well, umm…where were we? …ah! Our next contestant! Please give a big hand to Russia!"

The towering wall of lovable deadly ice-crystals made his way onstage. A faint pattern of embarrassment splattered his cheeks before he inched out from behind his scarf.

"Umm…sounds please…"

Immediately a strumming sound was heard. Russia's confidence exploded as he launched into the song, the microphone gripped almost too firmly in his hand.

"Malchick gay"

The audience visibly shivered, like the impact of a bomb going off in the ocean. Russia didn't notice and continued on.

"Malchick gay, malchick gay, malchick gay!"

Russia's eyes seemed to be searching the audience before they fell on a frozen, star-struck man. When they did, the peripheral curves of Russia's lips twitched.

Lithuania, the recipient of the gaze, promptly shuddered, while Latvia huddled, cowering and cuddling behind him.

Russia finished his song without incident. No one dared interrupt him. A few moments after his song ended, he sunk a bit back down into his scarf, the shy tinctures of pink around his face. He looked around.

"How did I do?"

Everyone within visible range held up a large sign with a 10 on it. Russia smiled and made his way off-stage.

The host seemed to wipe sweat off his forehead as he resumed the stage.

"Didn't he do fabulously? Another round of applause for Russia!"

Everyone clapped to the competitor sitting innocently at the bar.

"Alright then, so who's next? Ah yes! He comes all the way from Germany! Please give it up for the Butch Bavarian himself, Germany!"

The blonde strode into sight, looking around nervously, but steeling himself as he noted the audience watching him intensely. He snapped his fingers, gaining in momentum while the dance beats of music started to fill the room. When the inertia reached its maximum, it was time to begin.

Germany started, but nothing was more frightening than what came out of his mouth.

"Every time we touch, I get this feeling…!"

The audience was stunned. Everyone was stunned. The song would even have been catchy if it weren't for the hoarse, guttural shouting that emitted from Germany's throat.

It didn't take too long into the chorus before a ripe tomato bludgeoned the blonde in the right eye, successfully curtailing his performance. Germany was given a parting sausage and escorted back to his seat. The host attempted some far-flung excuse.

"I'm sorry Germany, but…um…the song didn't pass our censors. Better luck next time."

The words were on deaf ears as the fuming country was searching for his attacker. He was scanning for a certain Italian…

The host continued.

"Well, that was exciting, despite the censorship, so we can only hope our next competitor is as…serious…about his song…Please welcome…France!"

The already flamboyant country strutted onto the stage wearing a signature skin-tight, white plastic-leather jumpsuit, obnoxious sunglasses and rhinestone studded gloves with glowing wires. The entire outfit seemed to be glowing.

France began making awkward mechanical movements before the audience had finished cheering. They quickly quieted to see what was going to happen. He continued the movements, which were somewhat reminiscent of the robot.

Then, out of nowhere, the music began and a very suspicious sounding auto-tuned France began to sing.

"Touch It, Ring It…"

As he sang, France continued making the odd mechanical movements, this time using not only his arms, but his hips as well. His hands seemed to be pointing to obscene locations every time he reached the "touch it" refrain.

Germany cried foul to the song passing the censors. Italy cried foul to the use of autotune. Somehow though, France managed to finish the song. As his performance ended, France called out to the audience,

"Thank you my lovelies!"

The audience went crazy regardless. The host returned to announce the next act.

"Give it up for the Baron of the British Isles, the one, the only, Britain!"

The so-called Baron replaced the host on stage. He was dressed appropriately after having just about smothered France with a pillow. Still, there was nothing too flashy. He stepped to the microphone.

"Alright then, start the music!"

A chorus of "oohs" heralded his request and bridged him to the introduction.

"Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?  
Where's the street wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?  
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?  
Late at night I toss and I turn and dream of what I need…"

Though old fashioned with a slick modern edge, the audience was jumping to the music.

"I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero til the end of the night. He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh from the fight!"

America perked his head up, and watched Britain intently. The Brit was enjoying himself immensely, swaying from side to side and taking the words with an inherent raspiness to his voice. There was sweat and glitter mixed into expression and America began getting caught up in it.

By the time Britain got to "it's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet," America hurled himself onstage, flying toward Britain as he did so.

Maybe it was him getting star-struck as America so often did. Maybe it was a latent urge. Maybe it was something else, but whatever it was, America successfully ended the performance by not only knocking Britain over, but in the motion of the moment managing to pick Britain up bridal style. Britain was shocked.

"What are you doing you grease soaked buffoon!"

"Aw, Britain, the way you sang about me in that song, I never knew you felt that way."

Britain looked horrified, although everyone else seemed perfectly content with the idea. Another stream of "aws" emerged.

"What are you talking about? I wasn't singing to you!"

"What? Seriously? No way, dude. You had to be talking about me. You described me perfectly."

"What? As a grease soaked buffoon?"

"Funny dude. You're just hilarious, now let's go get a burger!"

"Wait! What! No! Let me go! Not again!"

America then ran offstage laughing hysterically. Britain's cries once more died away in the distance. Oh well. The show must go on.

"We apologize for the interruption. In any case…"

The host continued.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for our next performance, we have a duet! Please give it up for…Sweden and Finland!"

The stage went black and the room went dark as two figures rose in the midst of the shadows. All at once the lights came on, revealing Sweden, garbed in a tight, open-chested, spandex jumpsuit and Finland floating on leather and frills. All at once, the music began, an opening trill and then…

"Oh, y' t'ch my tra l' la!"

Sweden hit it off.

"Oh, my d'ng, d'ng, dong!"

And the air rocked with beats. The performance drew the audience on, not the least distracted because of Finland's odd swiveling movements.

"Oh, y' t'ch my tra l' la!"

Finland joined in with a string of "la's."

"Mmm', my d'ng, d'ng dong…!"

They began dancing in perfect choreography, each pushing away from the other and inevitably drawn back, grinding and gritting the heat out of their movements, setting the audience (and most everyone else) into a frenzy.

"Meet m' tonight…I'm look'ng for som' fun.

Meet m' tonight…I'm look'ng for som' _love_…

Meet-meet-meet-meet me tonight…"

Sweden strode to center stage, standing, kicking his foot down to the beat in boots. Meanwhile, Finland's hand came over Sweden's shoulder, reaching down, stroking up and off his exposed chest before Finland emerged from behind the singer into his own spotlight.

"You tease me, oh please me, I want you to be my love-toy…"

More pushing and pulling, ebb and eddy, flow and ford, and several audience members were flat on their backs in faints.

"Come near me, don't fear me, I just can't get enough of you boy…"

"Oh, y' t'ch my tra l' la…"

The performance raged on, oddly facilitated by small moaning noises that escaped from Finland here and there. Just as the final notes echoed out, the two stood, pressed together, breathing heavily, drowned out by the applause of the audience members still conscious.

It had ended and the two singers held hands and walked off stage as Finland gave a jolly, "Moi, Moi!" to the still cheering audience. The host had to be revived with a bucket of ice water.

Once he'd awoken, he hopped back into action, still dripping.

"Folks, it's been an amazing night and I hope you've enjoyed it, but first, before you go, our final act: Please welcome Japan!"

The small, thin man walked onto the stage looking like the envy of every pop-star in the world. Every inch of fashion, whether vintage or popular combined to make Japan look like he owned the industry itself. Although he still did look a little worse for wear, he gripped the microphone through his fingerless gloves and cleared his throat.

"Ahem…pardon me…"

Before he could say another word, the audience stormed the stage, crowding around him in an enormous flowing bear hug. He exclaimed as his fellow countries also jumped onstage to share in the hug. The host announced as best he could to the mass of people.

"It is unanimous! Japan is the winner!"

A roar of congratulations went into the air and everyone was happy. It seems as though Japan was loved. And everyone was cheering, except for Russia who was still sitting at the bar. The glass of vodka in his hand had shattered suddenly and his face had grown murderously dark.

Immediately, an odd, deep voice was heard over the microphone.

"Wait! I still have a song yo for all you hip peeps!"

Everyone turned to look at Turkey who'd fought his way onstage. Greece bristled, stepping closer to Japan. Turkey, in turn laughed.

"You just wait little archipelago! Here's the song I have for Japan!"

He beat his foot on the floor and music started.

"Be my best friend, best of all best friends!"

The crowd changed its location and carried Turkey away before he could get farther than the introduction. Japan collapsed on stage, with Greece quickly kneeling down beside him. The other countries looked down at him. He looked up and smiled.

"We must do this again sometime."

* * *

A/N:

Hello! I hope you enjoyed my CRACK fic with the bits of fluff and various pairings it afforded. I ask that you do please review! I love reviews.

I…don't really know what my main impetus in writing this was…I do know that I've been working on this for a LOOOONG time. It's been easily over a year…maybe two? I don't know. It didn't take that long to write though.

I have to give thanks to two special people though. First and foremost to The Wammy Girl with whom I discussed some of the ideas of the fic and who allowed for such a wonderful conversation that they kept growing. Second to CaCoPhOnY-Of-ScReAmS, who also in our conversations helped the fic along. So thank you both!

Also, the rest of my author's note is just comments from here.

Germany on Sesame Street:

No, I do not really know why I had this picture in my head. I know that I was trying to think of horrible places to put the characters…trying to stay with the original intention of the fic I guess…

Exercise:

What sort of gym _is_ this anyway?

An Admirable Villain:

I think I created Canadian Maple Syrup torture. I've never heard of anyone else using it anyway…and who knows what Canada might come up with next?

Song Covers:

It was remarkably difficult to think up another set of lyrics for the "Favorite Things" song from The Sound of Music. I didn't want to make them outright dirty…more suggestive than anything, but I don't think I succeeded.

The "We Will Rock You" song by Queen, however, was easier to deal with.

And poor Britain. Still getting carried off like a princess…

Guest Speaker:

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. It was late when I wrote it. That's all I have to say. Also, quite an uplifting tale if I do say so myself.

Cause for Concern:

I took a quiz once that would liken the person taking the quiz to one of the characters from Hetalia. The Wammy Girl guessed that I was most like Hungary. Surprisingly (or maybe not so much), I got Hungary as the result of my quiz. This is also mentioned in one TWG's fics.

I knew I wanted to put her in here somewhere then…

Greece and Japan:

I wanted to have them fall asleep on a snowy bench in the park, but that would have gotten them sick all over again. Also, the reference to Greece's fever is an inside joke from Hetalia. And the sicknesses in question were the Greek debt panic and the recent Japanese tsunami. I've been wanting to write something for Japan since the tsunami happened since it occurred very close to my birthday, but I only got around to finishing this over a year afterwards! Agh…I'm horrible.

The Italy Brothers:

I can't tell you how badly I wanted to turn this into something not so PG…

The "friends in New York" is a reference both to Sesame Street, but also to a note in the manga where Italy says that he has family in Germany. The joke itself stems from that…although…

Also, no, I do not know what sort of website France has. Nor do I care to elaborate all that much more on the subject.

The Sesame Street Reprisal:

Something had to happen and my love for Cookie Monster had to show itself. I hope enough people understand what Sesame Street is…Americans would…hmm…

Iceland:

I wanted to put him in here. I've never seen him in the manga or in the anime, but for some reason I like him a lot. Also, that particular part was going to just make no sense until I had the idea for the Funky Puffin. It doesn't deviate from the Funky Chicken all that much, except you have to be Icelandic to do it and it needs to be below 30 degrees. Volcanic eruptions are optional.

The Grand Karaoke Competition:

You may kindly give the host whatever sort of voice you'd like, whether a sports announcer, wrestling announcer, game show host, etc.

This part isn't half as funny unless you've heard all the songs mentioned. In my picking songs for the countries to sing, I was trying very hard to use songs made by people from those actual countries. For those who would like to go and listen to the songs, here they are in order:

Blue by Eiffel 65

Malchik Gay by t.A.T.u.

(My opinions for pairing both Lithuania and Latvia have very interesting differences, especially when it comes to Latvia)

Every Time We Touch by Cascada (I honestly imagined the English language voice actor for Germany to just be shouting this…I think the singer is German too…)

Touch It by Daft Punk

Holding out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler (it counts because Bonnie Tyler is from Wales. I was tempted to have Greece sing this too since I heard a version of it by Emerald Sun…but…)

Also, note here: There are just about too many ways to make fun of America with various ridiculous pop songs, but for some reason we expect it from him, so I didn't feel like putting him in here.

Ding Dong Song by Gunther (this has to be one of the most hilarious songs of all time. I have to mildly apologize to people from Finland though. I think Gunther is Swedish, but I didn't know of any Finnish music other than various power-metal bands…and I don't think those quite fit in with the mood of this part. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.)

For Japan, any number of lovely J-pop songs would have worked, but I really didn't know enough to put one in.

Best Friend by Toy Box (I _think_ one of the musicians from this band is Turkish. I'm not completely sure, but it fit so well, I wanted to use it anyway.)

As for any of the other countries that didn't sing, it was either because I am not familiar with any or enough music to place one accurately…or I just didn't want to write them in. Although, I was very tempted to have Austria singing Elton John's "Don't Let the Sun go down on me."

Another side note is that I imagine a lot of Spain's voice in "Tonight I'm Loving You," but I don't think Enrique Iglesias is from Spain…

Also yes! Love for Japan. See Greece and Japan note for the reason why.

And since I used so many references and songs, I suppose I should put that I obviously do not own any of them, but have greatly enjoyed using them for my non-monetary purposes of mirth and majestic CRACK writing.

Switzerland didn't make it into this fic, did he? I had an idea for him to host a cooking show. Maybe if I write another fic, this idea will show up again.

If you've read all this way, thank you so much!

I hope you enjoyed it! Review please!


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